swiggity swoogity i cast celine and rumi
When Rumi was seven, with baby fat laden cheeks and the barest beginnings of gangly limbs growing, she lost both canine teeth at the same time. It was charming and adorable and Celine still keeps a picture of Rumi drinking with a straw through one of the gaps as her phone background.
What was not cute were the six months of midnight trips to the hospital from tooth growing pains.
Rumi remembers one night in particular; sitting in the lobby of a random rural clinic, clutching Celine’s hand as hard as she could. Screaming and coughing hordes of people and their children shuffled around them like packs of cattle, the ringing of phones, the ever-growing annoying beeping of pagers; all at an ungodly hour that pulls at the eyes.
She recalls how her head throbbed with a fever induced headache not at all helped by the swarming fluorescent above. The revolving doors let in waves of frigid air only to be quickly swallowed by the sweaty cluster of packed bodies. How Celine had to cram her into her winter coat she had suddenly outgrown and was now digging up into her armpits.
She even remembered how everything towered over her, the receptionist desk, the water fountain, the crowds of strangers around them, even the chair she sat in had made her feel like she was sitting on the edge of a cliff. All while her gums scorched with tear inducing pain.
It was no wonder she started crying. She tried to be strong, really. Even then, Rumi didn’t want to cause a scene, to keep her head down and go home as fast as possible. But she just couldn’t do it. She was tired, sick, but no matter how hard she wanted to be a “big girl” the tears came anyway.
Despite her memory being tinged with both fever and time, the feeling of it is still there. As tactile as when it happened. Celine’s hands, cut up and calloused, colored a raw raspberry red with winter’s might, gently pulling the rat’s nest of tangled hair out from Rumi’s slept-in braid. Not once hurting. Wiping away the sweat and flyaway’s from her face.
Despite the cramped space, Celine kneeled in front of her and helped Rumi shimmy off her jacket, the pressure release immediately making her shoulders relax.
But most of all Rumi remembered Celine picking her up, despite her already being too big and too old, and pulling Rumi into her lap. Her head tucked up under Celine’s chin, her legs comically hanging out the now too-small hospital chair, and how Celine’s heart pounded in her ear.
It's after that, that things quickly got fuzzy. She was seven, exhausted, and ill. Sleep came with a vengeance that no one could stop. But the last thing she did recall, was a quiet hum reverberating from Celine’s chest and vibrating through her tiny body.
It is that memory alone that keeps Rumi from losing her shit when she sees the fangs in the mirror.
UNPROVOKED???? ohhhhh this is. this is so. i don't have the words. thankfully ☝ i have hands. to counterattack with
mothers and daughters you make me CRAZYYYYYY
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